


French Resolution

by TransBoyWonder



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F, Mirandy, No beta reader, Paris - Freeform, Second Chances
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-08-01 03:32:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16277000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TransBoyWonder/pseuds/TransBoyWonder
Summary: Andy get's a letter that was not supposed to be sent to her. The twins want to let their mom to get a second chance with her ex-assistant. Andrea travels to Paris to track the Editor down and make her listen.





	French Resolution

Miranda put down the 2018 spring issue of runway. Edith Piaf filling her kitchen walls, surely driving her stuck up neighbors insane. It was 6 in the morning and the streets of paris were desole the pickpockets were still asleep. But mademoiselle Priestly was wide awake. Chock it up to being in the magazine business for so long or becoming a mother. Either way, here the woman was with a cup of coffee and a red pen on a magazine she no longer ran. She had retires 4 years ago and now was a consult for Runway. It was not as demanding but they still needed her. 

The white haired woman took off her glasses and fiddled with the flimsy frame. Her mind wandering as steam from her coffee glimmered in the light of the morning. She often got sentimental of the past, things she regrets. This morning felt different. 

 

Across town Andy sat in her hotel in Paris. It was cheap but like most European hotels it had an electric tea kettle. No air conditioning, and a carpet that held stories. Andy gor up from the stiff mattress and looked out the window, she needed to get out of the dingy room. She had been looking over the same letter over and over again. This letter had been sent to her 3 weeks ago. The paper was well kept but the creases had become worn. Andy had kept it close since the day it came to her office. It was time to do something about the beautiful words.

Walking out of the lobby Andy kept her wallet in her front pocket and a tight grip on her iphone. The city was beginning to wake. Men in tight vests and starched shirts wiped the fortnights rain off of small round tables. Andy walked in past the man. Coming to the front of a woman who had obviously been born here. 

"Bonjour" Andy said hoping her college french would come back to her fast. 

"Bonjour," she answered in a high voice. 

"Puis-je avoir du café?" Andy tried, the woman squinted her eyes and made a yucky sign with her mouth. Obviously her french needed work. A man pushed past her and scoffed. What a welcome to the city. Feeling insulted and the beginning of a caffeine headache growing.

"American lady?" Andy turned and and an elderly woman with bright lipstick and a red cane pointed her finger. She had been watching from around the corner with a smugness that only a thoroughbred european grandma could pull off.

"Yes I am, bonjour." Her voice cracked, embarrassed that her tourist-ness stood out so. Hoping that this wasn’t the beginning of her second roast session.

"Come with me." The Italian goddess proceeded to walk with more gusto than most, for a woman in her late 80's. Andy was led through _______. She had never seen the architecture before. The beauty of 100’s of years of restoration. It took the young writers breath away. 

"You'd ome to tis city fa love?" Andy tried to hide the blush threatening to color her collar bones. 

"Yes ma'am," As they walked at an alarming speed. The neighborhood ladies began to put out cloths to hang on thin dinghy rope out of 3 story windows. Black laced undergarments and sheets blew in the crisp morning wind. The sun had begun to peak and the honk of taxis were in the distance. 

They rounded a street and Andrea could see the Arc de triomphe. It was a dedication to those who fought in the Napoleonic wars. The archway was in so many movies, yet seeing it in the distance as she walked down the streets was so different. She sighed at the marvel of the city. Andy didn't notice the woman open a door to a small cafe. They had walked for a while and yet Andy forgot that she was probably not supposed to follow strangers in a city she didn’t know. They were somewhere near the 11th street. Crossing the Seine, Andy gawked at the small house boats and wondered how many articles she’d have to sell to live here. Leaving the flowing water behind they rounded a few corners and Andy wondered if she was about to get robbed by this sweet older woman. But at the smell of fresh bread, Andy didn’t care if she would have to sell her passport for a bite. Her eyes closed and a moan escaped from deep in her belly. Coming to an old cafe with cracked black and white tiles. A blinking esspresso sign lit up from outside of the window. The sound of ‘The Man that Got Away” by Judy Garland played as the old woman unlocked the cafe and flipped the sign to open. 

"Come ins" The young writer complied following into the small haven of sweets and java smells.

"You still vant coffee gurl? " Andy smiled and replied with yes with enthusiasm. A man with black hair in a small bun behind his thin skull smiled. He, was unlike many other french men. His white shirt stained with years of flower and custards. No matter how much he washed his cloths the stains of baking and cooking in his Grandmother’s cafe would never fade.

"Angelo, my buetiful grandson," the monarch pointed her nimble finger into his chest. He quickly smiled and muttered something in Italian. The old woman threw her hands up and left behind a yellow door. The place was old but in good shape. It had various liquor bottles in the back and a bar with no stools. As so, people in Europe tend to drink their coffee standing and leave. There was, for the few small tables for those few to sit and get thro a Victor Hugo book.

"Good morning ." Angelo said to her in perfect English." I'm sorry if my grandmother gave you any trouble. She does tend...uh... to meddle." He turned and slapped the coffee machine insertion grounds. The old coffee maker groaned and sputtered out dark liquid with steam drifty from the top like a sauna. Angelo took a small spoon and brought the tiny espresso cup to a white dish. It was chipped and had the french flag on it.

"Actually she saved me. I was afraid id never get coffee in this city." He shook his head again.

Angelo put out his hand and Andy shook it with a smile. They were clean but his palms calloused and warm. The sound of Garland easing whatever awkward fidgets new acquaintances would have. 

"I'm Andy." 

"Bonjour Andy, please know that in my city there will always be coffee." He had a crooked smile that a boy would give. Only his body seemed like one in a museum. Everything americans thought european men looked like seemed to be true. 

/\ /\ /\

 

Miranda got up from her warm morning. Ready to dress and be on with the day. Changing the record to a new before grabbing a towel. Her small bathroom held far less perfumes and products then it had once. Now she stuck to the necessities...such as dior... 

It was white with an old dome sink. The left handle broken since the day she moved in. Impossible to call a handyman to fix something. But she was accustomed to european time and was more than willing to only use one handle. It seemed silly the Miranda who demanded coffee was the same woman whose apartment was array. Social life all but deceased and priorities coffee over...Well she supposed some things would never change.   
The water closet had a medicine cabinet, a toilet, and a shower. It was not quite the same as the New York castle she had sold. Yet she felt more alive in Paris than with any raggedy old man in Manhattan. 

Sighing and stepping out of her robe, the cold tiles made the wisps of baby hair stand on her neck.

At that moment Miranda's iphone buzzed from the kitchen. It was Caroline asking her if she would take the train to Venice and have dinner with her. The younger of the twins had taken a lover in Florence and she had yet to let the editor meet. 

Miranda turned on the water and it splashed against the tub. Sending rough water droplets onto her sculpted thighs. Her music was now muffled from the kitchen but she hummed along to the Que C’est Triste Venise by Charles Aznavour. Time ticket by as it often did. Miranda's mind wandered to Andrea. Her eyes, that soft smile and competitive nature that drove her. Where on earth had that silly little girl gone? She found that Paris, no matter the decade would always be a place for lovers. So as she watched couples pass she would dream of the brown eyes that had shown such promise.

/\ /\ /\

 

Laughing and taking a bite of a croque de monsieur, (Ham and cheese of course). Andy let out a full guttural moan. The cured meats in Paris were not like that of deli ham in Ohio. This was not a ham and cheese sandwich. This was like oral sex with melted cheese. Her phone buzzed taking her out of the food haze. Caroline had texted her again. Reminding her favorite assistant that Miranda had not gotten back to her about Venice. Andy’s plan hadn’t gone much past buying the plane ticket. The twins had coached her so much to get here. But now that she was here. It seemed a little odd just to knock on her door. What if Miranda had forgotten her?

"Angelo?" 

"Oui, Andrea?" He said rolling out dough as flour powdered the air. Sunlight twinkling in the flecks. He was making Brioche bread and he had been kneading it with vigor. Knowing that now the dough was becoming round and springing back, that it was time to pop it in the oven and give it a wash.

"How in the world do I get a metrocard?" He laughed and brushed some of the flower off of his hands via wiping them on his chest. Before getting out a his cracked android. 

Cassidy messaged Caroline for the third time that morning. Their scheme had to work. If not they would probably disowned with their master cards cut into little pieces. 

/\ /\ /\

 

Miranda was typing in a cafe close to her apartment. The man knew her and gave the Wi-Fi code freely. Knowing very well the consequences of not. She sipped a scolding hot Americano. And her fingers seemed to he having an exorcism across the keys. Typing in rapid concession as men and women walked with intentions in mind. Just as she was about to hit send on a delectably vile email a raindrop hit her screen. Followed by hundreds more. The editor looked up and scoffed. 

"Mademoiselle Priestly, ils ont dit que ce serait la tempête!" A young girl shouted as she opened the cafe door . (They said it’s gonna storm)

"Quelque chose d'autre dont vous avez besoin?" (Anything else you need?) She said kindly, although only as kind as a minimum wage woman could be. 

Miranda scoffed and pulled out change to put on the table. Pulling out her umbrella and shoving her papers and laptop. Growling lightly under her breath at the fact that she was so close to sending her work and yet once again interrupted. Slightly irritated but properly caffeinated she decided to walk the scenic way home. Maybe pick up a bottle of wine to drown her sorrows. 

/\ /\ /\

She regretted it immediately, the water soaking her to the bone. It didn’t matter that her cloths were designer or that it was only supposed to be light amounts of showers in the afternoon. Miranda decided against the scenic way to home. That fresh bread and wine was not going to happen this afternoon. Trying her best to get to rue des Petites Ecuries near her flat. The wind was blowing her umbrella violently and she walked like a predator but inside all she could think about was her fireplace, possibly a bubble bath. 

“Miranda!” That voice, she knew that voice anywhere. Turning with water pounding against her. Looking through a sea of people. She had to be dreaming, this was impossible. Then she started moving against the line of people scurrying. Stepping out into the road to see her. Andrea, god she looked miraculous. Older but it was her. Hair short, practically a buzz cut, a tattoo under her ear. But those eyes, she knew those eyes anywhere. Wearing a black trench coat, last year but very nice cut. Prada boots and a white button down with a green sweater. She looked warm, like everything Miranda did not feel before looking into her eyes. 

“Andrea?” They stood there in the middle of the street as people walked on the sidewalk and around them. A giant smile spread across her features and Miranda thought for a moment that the sun had come out. Because nothing else could be that luminous. However, thunder boomed in the air and brought them out of their gawking. Andy walked up to Miranda as rain soaked her short hair and fell into her eyelashes.

“Can we get somewhere dry?” She asked looking at the ghost white expression her former boss wore. Nodding Miranda motioned and made a comment about her apartment not being far. They walked in silence as they scrambled with the rest of the city. The lanterns warming their way. Puddles feeling like lakes and every inch a mile. Miranda heard it before Andy did, a man on scooter using the ‘sidewalk’ as a road. Grabbing Andy and moving her to the left against a building with a little too much force. The brunette’s head smacked against the brick. Miranda’s fingers digging into the girls hips in protective cogar fashion. The motorist got many ‘va te faire foutre’ and ‘crétin’ from other’s. Of course the brunette didn’t know the words in english but could figure out it wasn’t a thank you. Her side pressed against a wall and her ex-boss incredibly close. Arms to both sides of her, as if she was ready to defend at all costs. Andy tried not to inhale her perfume, but it was her new heroin.  
“Vous pourriez nous avoir tués smuck” Miranda screamed after him. Andy knew that smuck wasn’t french but it sounded pretty good together. 

“Are you alright?” Miranda felt like she was in a cheesy romcom. But she wasn’t about to let the girl be flattened by an idiot. Not when they had just reunited. Then she saw it a little bit of blood on the top of her head.   
“You’re hurt.” Andy immediately put her hand up to her forehead. Sure enough a trickle of blood. It must have been from the brick wall behind her.   
“Oh damn, It’s just a scratch.” Miranda wanted to argue that it wasn’t just a scratch and that, the man should be paying for such a transgression. But knew that getting red in the face wouldn’t stop the blood.   
“I have a first aid kit in my bathroom. Here” The turned the corner and walked a few steps. Andy holding her head as blood seemed to continue to seep out of the wound. Miranda used her key and opened the metal gate. A marble floor with an elevator letting the young writer know that her crush wasn’t exactly ‘living modestly.’ Getting in the elevator and hitting the 3rd button the thing let out a lurch. Making brown eyes shoot open a little bigger as the thing shook on it’s climb up the floor.  
“I’m afraid even though the building is beautiful somethings have never been replaced. But I did not want to have you bleed out going up the stairs.”  
“I guess the french have the same ‘if it ain’t broke’ mentality as americans?” Her head was starting to hurt and the realization that she was about to be in Miranda’s house again was causing a bit of butterflies.  
“Something akin, yes.” Miranda answered, showing a shadow of a smile. The elevator shut off and a hollow ding was the indication to get off. However it sounded a little too much like the tower of terror ride. To say the least Andrea was happy to get off of it. The hall was white with flowers on thin tables. A few windows opening to show the city below. In Paris, the top floor is not a luxury. The top floor means, (sometimes) sharing a bathroom with your fellow floors. It also tended to be the maids corders. Miranda was incredibly lucky to have a elevator that worked. But then again, money did open doors.

Miranda unlocked the door and stepped inside, dropping her keys in a bowl. Her flat had to be over three million dollars. It was the most spacious apartment in in Paris, Andy decided. The whole thing was white and navy. Leather brown sofa with claw feet in the living room. With a surround sound system hooked up to the very tricked out record player. It had no tv Andy noticed, but why would Priestly want to see anything on Netflix? There’s a fireplace in the middle of the room and she could see all four corners of it. Her kitchen was small but spotless, ellegant. Turning the corner to one of the three bathrooms. The hall bathroom was more amazing than Andy’s master bath. Not that the size, that was much the same. But it had a shower and a dome almost farm sink. Miranda had the big metal old fashioned tin that had gaws and bandaids sprawlled out. 

“Have a lot of ex employee’s show up at your door bleeding, do you?” Andy said with a quartersmile. The look she got made her feel as though the head injury was going to be the least of her problems.

“My you have grown brave, Andrea.” Miranda said looking down at the anceptic, she did not injoy the thought at all. 

“I didn’t mean you hurt them or that..What I mean is..Hi.” Miranda nodded and tongued the inside of her cheek. 

“What brings you to Paris?”Miranda got out one of her pristine white towels and blotted Andy’s head a little harder than either cared to admit. 

“Well um, can I actually not answer that and save it for later?” Andy asked suddenly feeling a little too vulnerable. 

“I wondered when one of my employees would come back for a quote.” Miranda knew she was being harsh on the girl. But Andy would have to work for this.

“Your letter.”

“Andrea, I never sent you a letter.”

“No, Caroline did. She sent the letter you wrote. You may not have sent it but, you did write it...Right?” Andy moved her bag and pulled out a crumpled, slightly wet paper. Miranda looked at it as if it was an alien squirming in her bathroom. 

“I never sent you a letter.” She said again putting a large bandage over her head. Not meeting the brown eyes.

“Ok, I figured you weren’t going to make this easy. But please, ow” Miranda flinched at the sound of hurt. Looking down and seeing the bleeding already starting to seep through the bandage.

“You may have a concussion. We need to take you to a doctor.” Miranda took one of the rolls and wrapped it around her head for pressure. Looking a little like she had been shot instead of a bump, Andy huffed in irritation.

“I don’t have health insurance here, Miranda. Can I just sit with some ice on my head and talk to you for a minute?” Andy was quickly realizing this was going to be a fight. The older woman didn’t answer but instead closed the kit and headed for the kitchen. Starting to make espresso, not asking the girl what she wanted. 

“Why do I feel like you’re mad at me?” Getting out a small thing tin of sugar to set on her tiny kitchen table. It had fresh flowers in the middle and Andy suddenly hoped she hadn’t come too late. 

“I don’t know what you mean Andrea.” 

“You looked at me in the street like I was a something from a dream and.. and now you can barely meet my eyes.”

“What were you expecting?”

“I don’t know, your letter. I thought maybe you’d be excited that I was here.”

“You may have grown older but you are still that silly girl afraid of Auto Universe.” Andy retracted hurt at the insult immediately. 

“I’m such an idiot.” Andy said and put the letter back in her bag and walked towards the door. This made Miranda angry and so she lashed out.

“Good girl, leave like you always do. It’s what you do best, is it not? Tell me does the cook know you are here?” Andy turned around and looked even more enraged. Miranda sat down with her espresso. She had poured some coffe into another mug on the opposite side where a chair sat. Andrea walked to it and sat obviously ready to go to war.

“You think I’m here for a story don’t you.” Andy tilted her head with a malicious smile on her face. Miranda read it as a ‘how dumb could you be.’ “You think I’d publish this? That I’d make money off of your letter?”

“I can see it now. ‘Lesbian Lioness Grows Courage, Dragon Mistress Tamed by dyke little lamb, Devil in Prada paddled into Damsel in Dansko.’ That is the perfect reason I never sent that letter Andrea. Because you and I would never have worked. You couldn't even make it through my employment much less a real relationship. You think you know me, ha!”

“I know a hell of a lot more about you than any of your husbands ever did!”

“Very astute, you can get my coffee order on the eleventh try. Give the girl the Pulitzer prize!” Miranda was on a warpath, ready to tear her to shreds. Ready to call her girls and tell them they would need to spend christmas at their fathers. Obviously their little scheme had gone terribly wrong.

“How dare you.” Andy shook her head. This was her worst nightmare come true. 

“I’ve had much worse thrown my way Andrea. You must do better than that.” Miranda sipped her coffee with enough sass to curdle milk. Looking at the flowers, then back to the sugar, damn it.

“How’s this; I know you hate sugar in your coffee. I don’t know why there’s sugar on the table! You must be seeing someone. But I know that’s not true because no one’s used your hall bath. You put out the forest green hand towels out because Cassidy got them for you for christmas. You are wearing your boots inside because you hate having bare feet on the floor! You have a secret stash of fuzzy ugly socks in your closet for when it’s cold out. You hate the color pink and despise aquariums.” Andy laughed at the reminder and shook her head before continuing.  
“ But you love the zoo and donated monthly. You’re favorite animal is a Koala. It was Caroline's first word to you. You love black and white movies. For some reason I can’t stop watching ‘The Little Match Girl’ and crying my eyes out because I know you loved it. You still drink coffee out of your mother's favorite mug. You’re terrified of spiders. I know you I swear I do. I can smell your perfume still when I sleep. I’m not some girl who flew all the way from New York to ask her ex-boss for a letter of recommendation, damn it. I love you, you fucking idiot.” Andy took a deep intake of breath and realized she was crying. Miranda froze, the feeling of guilt washing around like the burn of spearmint in her gut.   
“I’m sorry Andrea.”

“This was a mistake, I can see that now.” Andy poured the sugar into her cup of coffee. Stirring it slightly with the tiny spoon.

“I should never have said those things to you. I must admit I knew you were coming.” Miranda’s guit made her need to fess up.

“What?” Andy’s jaw hug open much like a cartoon. She was going to kill the twins. They told their mom! They snitched!

“I did not realize it would be so soon, Cassidy and Caroline have been acting strange. I do have the passwords to everything you see.” Miranda looked guilty gazing out the window, to see the storm continuing.

“They’re twenty!” Andy said in shock.

“In January.” Miranda defended, she knew that one day snooping would have to stop. But it seems both sides extended an invasion of privacy.

“You went through our messages.”

“It was not their letter to share.” It was almost like answering a question with a question. But Miranda didn’t much feel ashamed of the statement.

“You remember it. The letter I mean, you did write it.”

“You think it was the first one I wrote to you?” Andy leaned back in her chair, taking the moment in. She hadn’t thought about that. How long ago was the letter written? How many more were tossed in the trash?

“I don’t know what I thought. You just accused me of trying to blackmail you or something.” Miranda had been vicious but she didn’t quite feel like her grip of the conversation was the upper hand. Her therapist and her talked at length about her recoil in relationships when she did not get her way.

“Andrea, you left me without a note. Nothing, I knew you were alive via questions from the Mirror.” Shaking her head at the memory of being terrified that she had been rapped and left in an ally. 

“It was dumb. I was a lovesick kid I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“Time has been kind to you.” It wasn’t a question, Miranda didn’t seem to be asking questions. 

“You know what they say, get a haircut, move to a new city. My thirties seemed like time for big changes.”

“You are staying?” The tension released in Miranda’s shoulder that she wasn’t aware she was carrying.

“I like it here. New York and I are over.” Andy said with a laugh. Taking another sip of her coffee, feeling more carefree than she had in a decade.

“Citizenship?”

“Yeah no, I haven’t quite figured that part out yet.”

“Twelve years,” Andy wasn’t sure if she was talking about the time in which they had not spoken of the amount of time she’d spent in New York. 

“I didn’t know.” She said with a slight head tilt, she hadn’t known there was a possibility. She would have gone farther than Europe to talk to Miranda. She would have gone into the caves in Antarctica and hung out with polar bears if that’s what it took. “The sugar...in the little tin..You know I like sugar in my coffee.”

“Iris’s are your favorite flower as well.” She paused before almost looking insulted”  
You thought I didn’t know.” Andy looked at the purple flower and smiled. Miranda had been so patient with her. She had waited, so long.  
“Why didn’t you send the letter?”  
“A woman can only take so much heartbreak Andrea.” Miranda said gazing into the brown eyes that she had tattooed in her mind.

“How long have you been buying Iris’s Miranda?”

“Twelve years,” she answered with a smile.


End file.
